Bye Bye Beardie

If you knew me and had to point me out in a crowd, you would probably
say, “He’s the guy with the beard.” If there was any confusion, you would
probably clarify with, “No, the guy with the
beard. The big one,” and everyone would know who you were talking about. That’s
because over the last two years my beard has become my calling card, the thing
that most people associate with me.

It didn’t start out that way. I had
maintained a relatively neat and professional-looking beard for years because
of dress codes and such. Then my barber went out of business and I realized
that I was also in a unique time in my life, a time with looser rules. It very
well may have been the last time in my life that I could grow it out, at least
until retirement. So, I decided to seize the moment and put down my trimmers.

Weeks turned into months and suddenly I
realized I had a big, red, glorious Viking beard. As I became involved with
Hagerstown Hopes and began working in community outreach, I also became aware
that my beard was the feature that everyone remembered about me. This was new
for me, a fairly average looking guy with no distinctive traits apart from my
glasses. I liked it, so I let my beard keep growing.

Not everyone loved it, though. Comparisons
were made to ZZ Top and the cast of Duck Dynasty, and not always in a friendly
way. Still, I kept it because it was mine and it made me special. I had also
learned that my beard quickly separated people who care about character from
those who care about appearances. Why give up such a handy tool?

By this time, I was deeply attached to my
beard (pun intended). It had helped give me a new identity, and I liked that I
had a built-in visual aid when I talked to others about gender issues. I also
liked that it signaled to others that I wasn’t like everybody else and,
therefore, I might be able to help.

Then I saw a picture of myself at a lecture
and my opinion changed. I saw all the long, scraggly hairs from a different
angle and realized that the thing that had perhaps been my biggest asset was
becoming my biggest liability. I knew I needed to make a change, and I was also
afraid that making the wrong change would undo all the progress I’d made and
send me back to square one.

I quietly thought about it for weeks and
eventually reached a conclusion: my beard needed to be tamed. Deciding you need
a trim isn’t usually a major life decision, but for me, it was. Was I ready to
waste two years’ growth on a whim? Was the risk of losing or changing my
identity worth it? Was I ready to end the Big Beard chapter of my life?

I scheduled my appointment without knowing
what I wanted. While I deliberated the decision, I attended to my beard bucket
list. I braided it, decorated it – all the things people said I should try that
I never got around to doing. And I took a lot of pictures, knowing it would
likely be years before the next Big Beard chapter begins.
Now
I write as a man with a significantly smaller but still substantial beard. I
realized I had so loved the Big Beard chapter of my life that staying in it was
preventing me from moving forward. The only thing I really lost was a few
inches of beard, but the lessons I learned along the way will stay with me
forever. And, even though my beard isn’t quite as remarkable now as it once
was, I know that in a way it’s still there, just waiting for its next chapter
to begin.

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Author Profile

Brian George Hose

Brian George Hose has been an advocate for LGBTQ persons and issues all his adult life. He holds a Bachelor of Social Work from Shepherd University and looks forward to pursuing a Master's of Social Work with a focus in mental health. A former musician, Brian served as minister of music for New Light MCC for several years and incorporates music into social work practice. He lives in rural Western Maryland where he has amassed a sinful number of books, yarn, and books about yarn. He has been writing for Baltimore Out Loud since February 2016.